Undeserved Blessings

June 30, 2015

While out and about this morning, I drove past a yard sale and on a whim, decided to stop and have a quick look around. An antique store had gone out of business, and the stuff scattered across the porch and front yard were the odds and ends, remnants of the establishment that had thrived there for years. I looked over the selection, but the only thing of any interest to me was the antique barometer I bought for three dollars. Linda and I have commented often to each other about the stage of life in which we find ourselves. We used to like shopping together, picking up a bargain piece of furniture or something we needed for the house, but it's been quite awhile since we've spent any real money on stuff. There is just precious little we need.

Had we been born even a century ago, we who live a rather modest middle class life would have been considered fabulously wealthy. A couple centuries earlier, and we would be the envy of kings. Even today, compared to most of the world, we live in utter opulence.

There is a danger in such blessings. It is easy to imagine that we deserve them or that we have them merely because we've worked hard for them, not understanding that others have worked equally as hard, but without similar results. And as for deserving them, our Christian theology reminds us that if we received all we deserved, we would be forever damned. Grace is much to be preferred over reward. As Jesus said in one of his parables, when all is said and done, we say to the Master, "We are unprofitable servants," knowing there is no way we can begin to repay the debt we owe for our salvation.

We receive and are grateful for the blessings, but try hard to not place too much stock in them. All the things of this earth can be taken more quickly than they've been received, even as the story of Job reminds us. So we hold them loosely while we cling to Christ fiercely, bowing in humble gratitude for every manifestation of grace he bestows.

Sore Foot and Supreme Court

June 29, 2015

Hobbling around like an old man is not something I take kindly to. About two months ago, I noticed a pain in my right foot that was later diagnosed by the podiatrist as plantar fasciitis. He gave me some steroid pills that really did the trick, but that's not something you want to be on for any length of time. I'm too old for acne and fits of rage. My second visit was really fun; he stuck a needle in my heel to get the steroids to the heart of the matter. That did almost nothing. I've been doing the exercises, walking on the special inserts for my new shoes, icing the heel, just about everything I can think of apart from buying all the special apparatus advertised online, guaranteed to take care of the problem. It got so irritating today that I called for another appointment, something I really didn't want to do.

I don't know how this will all turn out. From what I've read, with the kind of stuff I'm doing, it should diminish over the course of about three months. Problem is, it's hard to work out when you can't put sudden pressure on your heel. By the time I get the heel fixed, I could be fat and lazy!

It amazes me to think of writing about my foot when there are such enormous issues facing us today, from ISIS to the national debt, with a bit of Supreme Court tomfoolery thrown in for good measure. I am blessed beyond measure when I think that this is the biggest problem I am facing at the moment. Worldwide, today there are more Christians being persecuted for their faith than at any other time in history. They are laying down their lives for Christ and forgiving their murderers. It could be depressing except for one thing: the promise of God. In our men's Bible study tonight, we read from St. Paul's letter to Titus, chapter 2:11-14

"For the grace of God that brings salvation has appeared to all men, teaching us that, denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly in the present age, looking for the blessed hope and glorious appearing of our great God and Savior Jesus Christ, who gave Himself for us, that He might redeem us from every lawless deed and purify for Himself His own special people, zealous for good works."

The "present age" of which Paul spoke was morally corrupt and bankrupt, much like our culture today. Human life was cheap, politicians were on the take, the ordinary citizen bore a crushing tax burden, while the Roman Empire squandered the sacrifices of past generations with an expansive public dole. The Gospel of Jesus Christ and the hope we have in him came crashing head-on into the dominant culture which responded with cruelty and suppression of all dissenting opinion. The powers that were discovered to their dismay that Christianity was more than a dissenting opinion; it is the power of God to transform human life and give hope to those who had no hope. Salvation appeared to all men; no one could claim ignorance. Those who believed found a hope that blessed them as they looked for the glorious appearing of the great God and Savior, Jesus Christ.

This is the same hope we have today, and it has the same power to transform society, one person at a time. God is not content to leave us captive to the sin that binds us. He redeems and sets us free from all the habits that hold us prisoner, transforming sinners into saints. Why would we choose to wallow in self-pity over the flawed reasoning of five justices? I choose instead to focus my mind and heart on things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of the Father. It is there my hope is fixed, giving me a joy and gratitude surpassing all the rejoicing of the LGBT etc. community over this ruling. Christ is purifying his people, and that usually takes fire. Things may heat up, but God will use it to refine us to reflect his glory and love. What is a sore foot compared to all that?

The Back of His Head

June 28, 2015

The back of his head remains imprinted on my memory as he drove down the street and out of sight. Nathan was headed off to college, and it was that view of the back of his head that stays with me. I am not usually an emotional man, but I remember getting choked up as his car dropped out of sight. Linda and I stood arm in arm watching, then slowly turned and went back indoors to try to sort out what this new stage in life would be like. Letting go of your firstborn takes a bit of getting used to; we were getting a crash course in it, and I didn't like it one bit. We had raised him for this moment, but when it finally came, it was like a sucker punch to the gut.

Nate was only going a couple hours away; Alex will be halfway around the world in Uganda. Tonight the family gathered around after little Nathan and Mattie's piano recital to say our goodbyes. It wasn't much fun, but it did demonstrate the bond of love we share. The tears flowed freely as we told Al how proud we were of her. At least I think that's what Linda was saying; it was hard to understand through all the sobbing. I know it's what I said.

When our children are in our care, we imagine that we can protect them, but anyone whose child has fallen prey to some chronic or life-threatening disease knows how fragile our protection really is. Our rites of baptism remind us that our children are given to us by God, yet he maintains his claim upon them. In truth, we cannot protect our children any better when they are in our care than when they are halfway around the world. So we pray. And in our prayers, we thank God for the gift he has given us in our eldest granddaughter, and entrust that gift back into his merciful and gracious hands. It's not just the best thing we can do; it's the only thing. And as I hugged Alex and whispered my love in her ear, I couldn't help but slip back through the years and see the back of her father's head as he drove out of our home into the world God placed before him. A new generation and a new releasing of our lifeblood into the hands of God. It's never easy, but it is good, and I am at peace and thankful tonight.

Thy Will Be Done

June 27, 2015

"If God did not by a very visible liberality confer these [blessings] on some of those persons who ask for them, we should say that these good things were not at His disposal; and if He gave them to all who sought them, we should suppose that such were the only rewards of His service; and such a service would make us not godly, but greedy rather, and covetous."
--St. Augustine, "The City of God"

Tonight I had a conversation with a good friend who over the years has gone through some pretty challenging life circumstances, and is facing some even as we talked. This man is a devout follower of Jesus Christ (he probably would remonstrate with me about this description, but it is true), and as we talked he shared with me some of the struggles and questions he has with life as he has experienced it. Sometimes, it just doesn't make sense. How as Christians do we account for the tragedy of young children left motherless because of a drunk driver? What do we do with the savagery of ISIS or the genocide of an entire generation in our own American holocaust as a result of Roe v. Wade? Where do we find a loving, merciful, and omnipotent God in the midst of Ferguson or Charleston?

I have to confess that even as a Christian pastor, I don't have satisfactory answers, but I also affirm that jettisoning my Christian faith would only make things worse. If there is no omniscient, omnipotent God of love and mercy, I am left with life that has only whatever meaning I can read into it, and even that makes no sense if my thoughts, hopes, and dreams are nothing more than the random collisions of atoms inside my brain. If everything is as the atheist says, the result of random chance, then there is no basis for right or wrong, no reason to say this person's life is of value, or that particular conduct is either chivalrous or crude.

The only response to the evil of this world that makes any sense is that of the Judeo-Christian tradition that posits evil as the distortion of the goodness of God and his creation, made possible by God's decision to give us freedom to choose love or hatred, good or evil. Without such freedom, love loses all meaning; if not given freely, it can hardly be called love.

This whole question of good and evil comes to a head in our prayers. We pray, but often do not receive the answers we are looking for. Sometimes prayer feels like an exercise in futility. This is why I like and am grateful for St. Augustine's observation quoted at the beginning of this post. And it is why I cling to the Lord's Prayer, where Jesus taught us to pray that God's will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Why pray that way? Because it is patently obvious that it isn't happening, and prayer is one of the ways we stay connected and accountable to Truth and Goodness, trusting that one day the weight of countless saints praying that very prayer will tip the balance and help usher in that kingdom where God's will is done, here and now, on earth as it is in heaven.

Plan B

June 26, 2015

Some days it might just be better to stay in bed. This morning the whole day stretched before me, a blank day on my calendar, which doesn't happen often. Of course, that doesn't account for the writer's group meeting that I totally forgot about until about 9:20. Oh well, that just meant the day was clearer than it should have been, so I got right to work. First on the to-do list was the mower deck. Wednesday evening when Linda fired up the old John Deere to mow the lawn, she made one pass before realizing that the blades weren't turning. The drive belt was working fine, which meant the problem was inside the deck. This morning, I removed it from the tractor, opened it up only to discover that it wasn't a simple issue like a broken belt. One of the pulleys had disintegrated, necessitating a trip to Tony's to see if it was worth fixing. Kyle looked it over and quoted me a price about half of what I expected to pay, so I left the deck there and headed home for project number two.

In order to properly wire the garage, a new line is required. Right now it only has a single 20 amp line for all the lights and receptacles. Plug in a jigsaw or fire up the compressor and the lights dim. Not wanting an overhead line between the house and garage, I needed to punch a hole in the basement wall of the house so we can run an underground cable between the two. The shortest distance between the house and garage was at the corner of the back room. Beneath it is an old bomb shelter, so it was there I chose to begin. With a three pound hammer I began to pound a three foot steel rod through the cement block wall. Even after burying the rod in the wall, I couldn't find where it was coming through. An hour and a half prying up the flagstones and digging around the foundation, and I still couldn't see the rod. In the basement, Linda's tapping on the rod revealed that I was digging in the wrong place by about three feet. I had forgotten to account for the fact that the back room juts out from the main house. This wasn't going to work; the day was a washout. No mower, no hole in the wall, no wire buried.

Whenever you find out what doesn't work, you're closer to what does. The day wasn't actually wasted; it was only frustrating. I've already figured out Plan B for the wiring, am grateful that my frustration doesn't define the day, and makes me wonder about the frustration I must cause God when I don't align with his plans. I'm glad whatever frustration I may give him doesn't cause him to give up on me. I may not fit into Plan A, but God always has a way of accomplishing his purposes. If Plan B is it for me, that's OK. If it's God's plan, it is good, and I am thankful.

On Being Wrong

June 25, 2015

Linda and I are going to tag-team preaching Sunday on the subject of "Marriage for the Long Haul." We've been at it for 45 years, so I am finally getting somewhat comfortable with tackling the subject. Years ago when our kids were teenagers, people begged me to preach a series on how to raise teenagers. I kept telling them that we weren't out of the woods yet, declined as politely as I could, and told them I might try the subject when we saw how they turned out. I think they turned out OK, but never did get around to that particular series. But since Medicare has officially certified me as being old, I guess I'm ready to dive into this business of marriage for the long haul.

I'm actually looking forward to it. We've had a bit of fun putting it all together, and I do believe we've identified a few principles that actually work. Tonight as a part of my gratitude routine, I'll give you an advance on one of them by way of a true story.

"It'll be SO nice!" she said, trying to convince me with her most alluring voice. I'm surprised she didn't ply me with alcohol or try to entice me as a means of convincing me of the rightness of her cause. "Can't you just see it? It's quiet, has a nice spacious lawn, the creek out back; it's close to the kids..." She droned on for some time, citing all the benefits of picking up and moving from the first home we'd ever owned, which was paid for, and from which I expected to be carried feet first some day, to be within walking distance of the grandkids instead of a ten minute drive. All I could see was all the work and money it would take to get to what she saw.

The house needed major renovation. The previous owner had begun the project, with new roof, siding, and windows, but the inside really needed to be taken down to the studs and rebuilt. Having undertaken kitchen and bathroom remodels in the old house, I didn't relish the thought of remodeling now. After all, I am ten years older than when we tackled the projects in Cassadaga. But if there's one thing sure about Linda, she's persistent. She did catch me, after all. And over the course of a year, she wore down my resistance. Two years ago, we bought, renovated, and moved. The remodeling is still in progress.

The Cassadaga house didn't sell as we had hoped, but with the exception of the past six months, it's been paying for itself, as we've been able to rent it out. Tonight it looks like we have a new tenant, so although we don't have a lump sum to pay off the loans we took out to finance our new old home, we aren't losing money. And, Linda was right. We are within sight of the vision she had for the place, and it IS good! Most every evening we walk the perimeter, looking at the falls, checking the creek, watching Emma cavorting across the lawn and into the weeds, chasing whatever has caught her fancy at the time. It's quiet and peaceful. Fifty years ago, Hal Borland wrote a book entitled "Homeland;" essays on living on sixty acres in rural Vermont. In one of his essays, he wrote about walking the boundaries of his property, commenting that "it gives a sense of belonging." In the country, the land doesn't belong to us as much as we belong to it. We only have 2 1/2 acres here, but I understand what he was saying. I belong here more than anywhere I've ever been. I was wrong and she was right, and admitting so is not such a bad thing when it leads to such a good ending.

What is Most Important

June 24, 2015

A few days ago I had a conversation with my friend Willie that I've been pondering ever since. We met for breakfast and as I sat down, Willie opened the conversation by asking if I had thought about going to Charleston to attend services for the nine black people murdered by a young man whom I will not memorialize by using his name. Willie and I regularly have race-themed conversations that often keep me thinking for days. For the benefit of those who may not know, Willie is black and I am not. Willie is also my cousin by marriage, and my window into a world of experience completely foreign to me. I grew up in a white suburb, never even exposed to other races and cultures until college days, so Willie helps me see life through his eyes, a gift I treasure.

My response to his question about attending the services was that as a white man, I would feel like an intruder. His response floored me. "Why would you feel that way? You are a Christian. Isn't our unity in Christ more central to who we are than the color of our skin?" Racial tensions in our society that are too often stirred up by professional race-baiters had done their job. Without even realizing it, I had bought into their distorted narrative that our color is the most important thing about us, and that if mine and yours are different, that difference is more significant than our commonality as human beings and in this case, as Christians.

I've often said that no one has the right to tell you who you are except God, and yet here I was, letting the likes of Al Sharpton tell me that who I am in Christ is less significant than the color of my skin. Willie's single, pointed question was like an arrow to the heart, a necessary wound that revealed the shallowness of my faith as it touches on this area of my life. I am grateful that he was willing to speak the truth, and that I was able to hear it. Either we are brothers in Christ or not. We are, and for that I am thankful tonight.